The Inconvenient Light

Two thousand years ago, the Light entered the world and unsettled the religious establishment, exposing the rot hidden beneath their rhetoric and practices. Enraged, they crucified Him. That same Light still exposes our sin today. How do we respond?

Light is both a blessing and a condemnation—like Paul’s metaphor of the “aroma of Christ,” which brings death to some and life to others (2 Cor 2:15). Essential for living, light also exposes what we would rather keep hidden, and our response to what it reveals determines whether it blesses or condemns us.

How do Christians protect themselves from the “Light?”

We use the same tools as the first century religious leaders. We focus on external and visible religious habits such as faithfully attending church, serving in the church, giving generously, even preaching. These are good and essential practices that leave the impression that we are devout believers and obedient to God.

Yet, although God is pleased with these deeds, He is more concerned about hidden traits such as motives, thoughts and intentions.

But isn’t The Light good?

Absolutely. Light is good—God created it and declared it so (Gen. 1:3). It enables us to see, read, and live with clarity. Scripture also uses “light” metaphorically: Jesus, the Light of the world, reveals the Father—“Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father” (Jn. 14:9). As the Word, He is our guide, “a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path” (Ps. 119:105).

So why are people annoyed by the Light?

Because Light exposes. It reveals human depravity and sin. Scripture describes God’s Word as “sharper than any double-edged sword,” penetrating to judge “the thoughts and attitudes of the heart” (Heb. 4:12). Jesus confronted hypocrisy, greed, and the lust for power. He likened the Pharisees to “whitewashed tombs” that look clean outside but are full of death within (Matt. 23:27). He accused them of cleaning the outside of the cup while leaving the inside full of greed and self-indulgence.

Ouch. That stings.

Yes, Light hurts. It is like pouring alcohol on an open wound. The pain of exposure was so unbearable that the religious leaders conspired to silence Jesus on a cross.

But weren’t the Pharisees pious men?

Indeed. Meticulously devoted to the laws and traditions built around the Torah, many still exploited religion for personal gain. Jesus noted, “Everything they do is done for people to see.” They relished seats of honor, loud prayers, and moral superiority—even boasting over sinners like the tax collector (Luke 18:11). The material benefits and thrill of status proved irresistible, as the pleasure of standing above the common people was too good to surrender.

And His disciples?

Jesus’ disciples were not immune to the allure of power and glory either. At the Last Supper, even as Jesus spoke of His impending suffering, the dazzle of future ministerial posts in God’s Kingdom filled their imagination, and they quarreled over which of them was greatest (Luke 22:24). In response, the Light reminded them that true greatness is found in service: “the greatest among you should be like the youngest, and the one who rules like the one who serves” (Luke 22:26).

How about the early Christians?

First-century believers were little different from the pre-Pentecost disciples. For example, the Corinthian church was rife with ego-driven sins. Paul rebuked them as “worldly—mere infants in Christ” (1 Cor. 3:1). Jealousy and quarreling divided them into factions—Paul, Apollos, or others—turning loyalty into rivalry. Spiritual gifts also became a source of pride, but Paul cut through their boasting with a stark reminder: “If I… do not have love, I am nothing” (1 Cor. 13:2).

But we, 21st-century Christians, are better than the early Christians. No? 

This very question, however, betrays a deep-seated boasting over other Christians—an attitude the Light would rebuke.”

In what ways might we seek glory and honor?

Human nature has not changed. Like in the first century, we still find subtle ways to use religion for self-promotion—often without realizing it—taking pride in preaching, teaching, serving, or even claiming special spiritual experiences. Few today are as blatant as the Pharisees, yet each of us carries a measure of Pharisaism; the tyranny of ego and the lure of material gain still shape our motives more than we admit.

How can I know if I am being influenced by money and my ego?

This is a question every believer must ask. Honest self-reflection—guided by a few searching questions—can help uncover hidden motives.

• How do I react when I am turned down for a church role?
• How do I feel when the pastor forgets to thank me for helping in the kitchen?
• Do I sometimes quote Scripture in conversation more to display my spirituality than to edify others?
• What truly drives me to share stories of answered prayers—gratitude to God, or the subtle desire to be admired?
• For those serving in full-time Christian ministry, how much of what we say and do is driven by genuine devotion to Christ, and how much is colored by career considerations?

Pharisaism has its lighter versions, too. Pastors may quietly take pride in the size of their congregations. Evangelists may slip in the number of their converts. Even the casual phrase, “This morning, the Lord gave me this message to preach,” can mask a longing for recognition.

The line between genuine gratitude and fishing for esteem is thin. When I say, “Praise God, our Sunday attendance passed 300,” am I truly giving glory to God—or angling for recognition? Perhaps a little of both.

Is it wrong for me to feel good about myself?

There is nothing inherently wrong with feeling good about our spiritual gifts or biblical knowledge. God wants us to be confident in who He made us to be.

But we set ourselves up for disappointment when our well-being depends on the opinions of fallible humans—opinions that are fickle, mistaken, and sometimes hypocritical. Instead, God calls us to root our security in His eternal love, grounded in the truth that we are created in His image. In His eyes, we are infinitely precious, regardless of what others think.

Depending on human approval is a mark of spiritual immaturity, as Paul writes: “If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ” (Gal. 1:10).

Yes, we should feel good about ourselves—not because we pray, sing, give, write, cast out demons, or preach better than others, but because our “names are written in heaven” (Luke 10:20).

How then should we respond to the Light that came into the world?

As uncomfortable as the Light may be, we serve ourselves best when we welcome it—especially when it exposes our flaws and humbles us before ourselves. Embracing the Light requires courage: the courage to face, admit, confess, and correct our sins. It means allowing Christ to shine into the deepest parts of our hearts and minds, uncovering fears, insecurities, jealousy, hypocrisy, and pride.

When we wholeheartedly embrace the Light, He transforms us towards fulfilling His word: “You are the light of the world” (Matt. 5:14).